


Priceless

by Ragga



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Never Met, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Because what else could it be?, Charity Auctions, First Dates, Fluff and Humor, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Until Peter gets his hands on him, it's fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 22:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10886010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragga/pseuds/Ragga
Summary: "One hundred thousand."That was the highest bid ever to grace the annual charity auction of Beacon Hills' Sheriff's Department. That was also the price of one Stiles Stilinski. Well, if you decide todouble that. And now, for this one evening, this one date, he belonged to this man called Peter. Who knew you only had to quote his mother's favourite author to snatch a millionaire?(Well, there were other factors too which Stiles didn't know about. Probably. Maybe?Rich people.)





	Priceless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gksmentality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gksmentality/gifts).



> Happy birthday, GK! <3
> 
> I really wanted to finish this gift for you but, as you know, my time has been severely limited in terms of writing anything but my thesis. At least I managed to get this part out! Hopefully you won't have to wait too long for the rest of it but at least there's no cliffhanger? I promise! :D
> 
> Also, for those who are waiting for my other WIPs, especially Hunting Pains, I am working on them. Slowly. Glacially. But working on them anyway :)
> 
> Enjoy!

“Erica, are you sure about this?” Stiles asked, feet dragging as he slouched next to his friend, trying to look as small as possible. He didn’t really manage, only getting more glances from the passers-by looking at the tall, adult man attempting to emulate a child in size without a huge success. On the contrary, he managed to make himself look sillier than ever. Erica huffed in exasperation.

“Of _course_ I’m sure!” She said for the thousandth time. This was really getting tiresome, having to repeat yourself for _weeks_. Her ideas were never awful, and it was about time Stiles realised that as well. Well, except for the times they were but those were rare and mostly the ones made under alcoholic influence which this definitely was not. “Believe me, this is going to do a whole lot of good for you.”

“Yeah, getting rejected and getting no bids even for the charity is going to go down _so_ well,” his friend mumbled. Erica felt her lips turn into a frown. Just a few months ago Stiles would have jumped with joy for the possibility to participate in the fundraising for the police department. All the money for his dad and the betterment of his heart, he would yell, despite the only betterment he might get would be a vest to cover it or better coffee and snacks for the break room. Her scowl darkened. It was all because of that douche ex of Stiles who decided to cheat on him. On their bed. On which Stiles found them in the act at, after which the douche _dared_ to call Stiles undateable and other rather unsavoury names that definitely did _not_ describe him _at all_. Erica should know. She had the worst crush on him in middle school and half-way through high school until he introduced her to the love of her life. He never even realised it, the dense idiot.

Also, she was there with Stiles when he found that douche and his slut. So had been her boyfriend, Boyd.

The cheating bastard _so_ didn’t have a natural white row anymore.

Not that that satisfying perfection of Boyd’s violent right punch had helped Stiles any. He had finally thought he might have been able to find a person who was into him as much as he was to them but noooo, her idiot gave his trust and got it back in pieces. Ugh. Erica lamented not having punched that waste of space herself when she had the chance but she knew she wouldn’t have had the same effect as Boyd did. Her boyfriend lifted on a whole another level next to her.

“I bet you’re going to have people competing for getting a date with you!” Scott enthused, clapping Stiles on the shoulder. He had disapproved of Erica’s scheme at first, even fought actively against it, if only because Stiles had been so against it himself. Still, after seeing his best friend wallow after that bastard and lament for his undesirability for a month straight, oftentimes with copious amounts of curly fries and pizza, he had a change of heart. Stiles deserved the best of things, and a relationship where he was cherished at. Like the one Scott had with Kira!

At which point Erica had stared at him for so long before Scott had admitted that while there was nothing wrong with people being single, not at all ma’am, but Stiles had always been happier when he was with someone; when it had been Scott and Stiles against the world, when they had all come together in high school, when he had been together with Heather in that whirlwind romance of 2013, then during all those months with the douche after the failed attempts at dating.

Which, well… yeah. Erica had to agree to his point.

Stiles was loyal and had a monogamous streak of a lifetime but with a taste for assholes – possibly literally, which explained why he and Heather didn’t last, but he refused to talk to her about his sex life, which, _rude_ – which often translated into issues for the people being assholes in an assholey and _not_ an amusing way. Sometimes you even got to know that too late since they were so adept at hiding those less attractive tendencies.

Hence the situation they were in now.

Scott was hoping for a romantic discovery of a lifetime whereas Erica just wanted Stiles to get laid and get _on_ with it after finding reassurance that he had both the looks _and_ the charm which had once caused even her heart to beat faster. It was an auction, what else could they hope for? But Stiles had now gotten into his head that he only attracted the worst of the bunch which, well, had been true but this was a _charity auction_. For the Sheriff's department of Beacon Hills, small town extraordinaire, filled with tittering old ladies and ogling and lusting men and women eagerly waiting to get a piece of that.

Yes, it would bring Stiles back to his game, Erica thought, determined.

She’d make sure of that.

***

“There are too many people out there,” Stiles said and fell back against the wall, only to bang his head against it repeatedly. Erica tisked and dragged him up from the collar of his shirt, smoothing the hair down which was trying to stick into a bunch unflattering side spikes. She looked at her handiwork critically and nodded, satisfied. It was still sticking out but in a messy, just-got-out-of-bed sort of way instead of an I-just-had-a-fight-with-a-goose tragedy.

“More people to see the handsome man you are!” she sang. Stiles threw her an ugly look at which she only grinned.

Scott turned back to them, and scowled. “There _are_ too many people out there,” he agreed vehemently. Before Erica could snap at him to stop it, he continued, throwing his fist in the air dramatically, “I need to battle against them for my best friend’s heart. They cannot have him!”

There was a pause before a warm, appreciative twinkle appeared into Stiles’ eyes, so Erica let it go. Still-

“You are _not_ going to stop all these men and women from taking him out for a night!”

Scott looked affronted. “What if _I_ want to take him out for a date?”

“That’s called a standing bro night on every Thursday,” she said, hands on her hips. The two idiots had the gall to look at each other, grin, and high five.

“It’s not like anyone’s going to want to go out with me anyway but maybe the old ladies who think I can put a good word for the good ol’ widowed Sheriff.” Stiles shrugged, as if there was nothing else this day could be bringing him but acting as his father’s wingman. Erica’s temper flared.

“You listen to me now, you little shit!” Other people at the backstage turned to them but she gave zero fucks. She had _had_ it with this pity party. “You are going to go out there, enjoy being ogled for the piece of meat you are and make _all_ of them salivate for not having what you’ve got. And _then_ you are going to go out as the person with the highest bid of the entire history of charity auctions and _then_ you are going out to have _the night of your life_. _Got it_?”

Stiles’ expression had dried into a mixture of disbelief, resignation and scorn. There was a weak spark of hope too, a flame almost afraid to burn, which made Erica’s heart twist painfully.

She would need to go to Jordan after this – or after his date, because hot cop is on _fire_ – and persuade him to let her know where the douche lives now. Oh! Or maybe she could go to Danny. She might need a bribe or two but if she told him of the cause, he would probably give her a discount. She needed Boyd to bash the rest of that bastard’s face into something so unrecognisable a dozen plastic surgeries couldn’t fix it anymore just so he wouldn’t be getting laid ever again.

“I think I saw Derek there too in the audience,” Scott said. Stiles perked up. He _actually perked up_ because Erica’s boss was in town. It was so cute it was disgusting.

“Derek’s back in town?”

“He’ll be at the bakery tomorrow,” she promised, then added with a glint in her eyes, “ _If_ you promise to be good and go on the stage in fifteen minutes.”

Stiles seemed to debate it barely for a moment before shaking on it. She couldn’t really blame him. Whatever Derek touched turned into pure edible gold. Anytime he was in town, he baked these really great pastries which stole her breath and heart time and again, the recipes of which she had no idea of. Derek guarded those with his life like they were more precious than anything he owned, than his whole bakery empire of Claudia’s Page. Why Derek had chosen that name, Erica still didn’t completely understand, mostly because it seemed more like a name for a bookshop than a bakery. She hadn’t asked since it was none of her business and Derek always got that sad little look on his face whenever he actually _was_ asked. Anyway, they would only get those special recipes whenever he was in town, and she always came home during those days with her stomach full, a couple of pounds heavier, and with a drive to burn them off.

The sex after those days was always _particularly_ good.

“Alright, out with you!” Deputy Graeme called, ushering all but those out who were going to be up for auction. Many men were up for the task, and Erica did not hide her appreciation for their built bodies or silver fox charms. What was there not to like? There were also a few women there but they were in the clear minority. She let go of Stiles’ hand, only to dive in and steal his phone. Erica winked at him, evaded his hands, and dragged Scott with her, the idiot declaring he would win Stiles’ hand in the upcoming battle.

The dork.

She needed to give him a noogie for being so adorable. Thankfully Boyd and Isaac were waiting for them in the audience. They could hold him down while she messed with those angel curls. Kira couldn’t, and wouldn’t, stop her. She found that puppy dog look and big eyes far too cute to resist, as she had once confessed to Erica while they had gotten drunk on a ladies’ night. Not a particularly juicy bit to confess but she could take advantage of it anyway.

Like now.

Scott would appreciate it when he got laid tonight too.

***

The auction was set to start at 6pm sharp, and surprisingly, it did. Erica and her entourage of Boyd, Scott, Isaac and Kira were sitting on the third row with a great view on the stage. Lydia hadn’t been able to come tonight; however, she had demanded pictures, a lot of them. Erica did something even better. As she sat next to the middle path leading to the doors, a spot she had made her boo guard with his life and muscles, she had set a camera to film it all. She hadn’t told Stiles but she wanted him to see for himself for how other people saw him to drill into him, finally, that he did not need to settle for anything.

First Deputy Graeme – Tara, she told them to call her – arrived on the stage, as the one to host the show. She did a pretty good job out of it, even if it wasn’t ever going to be the job to push her into stardom. She also introduced Sheriff Stilinski, and the quota they wanted to try to break, a twenty grand. It wasn’t much, she thought, but for a small town they couldn’t really ask for too much. Besides, that would get them some desperately needed new equipment as well as the healthier snacks Stiles had advocated hard for.

The first to arrive was a deputy called Andrew, someone quite new, since Erica hadn’t seen him around before. He was good-looking with his blond curls but not really Erica’s type. He did start the round with some four hundred dollars, though, so he did pretty well for a new face. Jordan was next, raising the pot already to a one thousand and six hundred. Hot cop was hot.

The rounds went fast, with some men flashing a smile, some flashing skin. Some flexed and made them sigh, some made them laugh with a quick joke. They were past the seven grands’ mark by the time Stiles stumbled to the stage. He really did stumble, almost fell on his rear, and it looked like he had been pushed from behind the screen. A few laughs escaped from the audience and Erica could see Stiles flush bright red in embarrassment. She turned around to glare at the ones who _dared_ to laugh at _her_ idiot.

The two men quickly shut up when they noticed the blond bombshell promising to hang them by their entrails. She gave them the imperious nod à la Lydia Martin before turning back to Stiles. He had made his way next to Tara. He was clad in the jeans which showed off his cute little butt and he also had the collared shirt Erica and Lydia had picked for him with its sleeves pushed up so his arms were left uncovered. Yes, he looked great, Erica nodded in approval. From the glances that she gave to people around them, they appreciated the view as well.

 _Promising_.

“And this here, is our town’s own little prince!” Tara laughed, and clasped Stiles on his shoulder. He rubbed the back of his neck, an embarrassed half smile curling on his lips.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, and countered, “Unless you’re to be my queen. Then I can die happy!”

Tara giggled, swatting at him playfully. “What a charmer! You know how to treat your ladies! Or is it the gentlemen now?”

Stiles shrugged. He had been openly bi since that embarrassing time when his father had caught him and Scott leaving the Jungle. “Why settle for one? I’m a man of opportunity.”

“Careful! We have a charmer and a player amongst us!” Tara winked at the audience. The old ladies giggled with her while some of the others were giving Stiles considering looks. The poor boy looked like a he wanted the ground to swallow him.

“I- I wouldn’t say a player,” he said. “That would suggest I have game.”

“But you have! Don’t you agree?” she directed the question at the audience who whistled and clapped their agreement. Stiles scratched the back of his head again. Tara turned back to him. “Do you have any last words for the lovely people waiting to get a date with you?”

Stiles coughed, Erica noticed, to hide a grimace. He gave his best (fake) smile for the crowd and said-

“Right, uh, well, I have this lost continent with me, and I would love to explore amalgam with you. If, you are, you know, into that?” He winced when the people burst out laughing and whistling again. Erica tilted her head, impressed. She wouldn’t have thought he would step up his game with a euphemism of that boldness, despite saying words which probably didn’t exist in the English language.

“Hear that? He already has plans for you!” Tara waved her hand, pushing Stiles to the front. She took a few steps to the side herself, so he had the central stage all for his own. The bidding can start! Opening bid is, as usual, 50!”

“50!” Scott yelled before Erica could make Isaac take care of him. Isaac met her daggers with a shrug, a smirk pulling his lips. She scowled. She would get him back for this.

“60!” a woman yelled from the back.

“100!” Danny. That was Danny. Erica’s head whipped around and, truly, the hacker extraordinaire was there with a gleam in his eyes. Oh wow, Stiles would so score tonight if Danny had the dough to win.

“120!” Scott called again. Erica would just have to hide his body next to Isaac’s.

“150!” That was another woman. And then it escalated.

Erica watched in fascination as Stiles’ price went up from 200 to 750. Scott had given up at 250, grumbling all the way, but Danny was still going strong against some woman. Erica could only get a glimpse of purple from her direction. Stiles was looking wide-eyed at the show. He was now the person with the third highest bid, just 400 from Jordan’s 1200. Not too shabby for a guy who wasn’t out of the academy himself but was rather studying in the university. The rest of the men and women were either part of the Sheriff’s department or the fire department with a few weird cousins of the people involved here and there.

“900!” Danny called, a smug tone in his voice, and Erica could hear the woman grind her teeth together as her funds finally ran dry.

“900 called! Going once, going twice! Going thr-”

“One hundred thousand.”

***

“Remind me again why we are going to this event,” Peter said. He looked around the hall in disdain. Oh, how he hated small towns and the atmosphere where everyone knew everyone else’s business. It was grating his nerves already to see the many side glances thrown their way. Derek rolled his eyes.

“Because the least we can do to support the land our ancestors lived in is to support the community which keeps it alive.”

“Keyword there is our ‘ancestors’. The Hales moved out of here two generations ago, a very good decision if I’m to be asked. I applaud those ‘ancestors’ for having good sense although, clearly, I’m the only one to actually inherit it. Why should we care about anything here?”

“Why are you here anyway? You certainly don’t want to,” Derek huffed, his annoyance peeking.

“Your mother. She wants you to move your head office to New York or _at least_ Los Angeles or San Francisco. You already have successful bakeries in all three, and this town offers you nothing but lost customers.”

“Her words?”

“Her words. But she has a point.”

 “She may have a point but here is where I started my business,” Derek said plainly. He sat down at the corner table reserved for them. Peter sat on the other side where he was as far away from the country pumpkins but still had a clear vision to the stage to see whatever entertainment they offered here. Maybe there would be cancan dancers and pianos like in all Old West films. “And I like it here. It’s peaceful like it never is in LA or NY.”

“The cities never sleep,” Peter agreed, “But that’s half the fun.”

“Well, you can have all that fun without me,” the gruff answer came. “I don’t care if I lose business by having my time dedicated here. If I do, then they weren’t worth it anyway.”

Peter snorted, but silently agreed.

“Well, if it makes you happy.”

Derek gave him a suspicious side glance but Peter kept his expression schooled. His nephew nodded. “It does.”

Peter crossed his hands on the table as he leaned forward. “Do tell me, then, what are we doing here?”

Derek groaned. “Didn’t you listen at all? I must have told you at least twice! There are _signs_ of the event around every corner!”

“I may have focused on the disrepair of this village and its people being busybodies instead of listening to the dulcet tones of your voice.”

“It’s the Sheriff’s department’s annual charity auction,” his nephew explained after sighing deep. Peter might have felt offended had anyone else done it but Derek found it exhausting to be around people, family even more so, and thus probably deserved a break. Maybe. He was so fun to tease though. Which was possibly the reason he found family so exhausting. Talia didn’t help it either with her demands. “They do some fundraising thorough the year but this is what it culminates into. You can win a date by supporting the department.”

“A date auction? With the deputies?”

“The fire department usually helps out since they get a cut too.”

“What, you are looking for a date _here_? Derek, if you had only said, I’m _sure_ I could have set you-”

“ _NO_.” Derek’s exclamation was so loud their neighbouring tables no longer merely stared at them from the corners of their eyes but twisted around to look at them. Peter felt like he was being an attraction in a zoo. He disliked the feeling very much. There was a reason he worked behind the scene rather than at the stage himself.

“What are you staring at?” he snapped, and the people quickly turned around again, busying themselves with whatever they busied themselves with. Peter didn’t care.

“No,” Derek said again, this time quieter. “I usually wait for until afterwards the Sheriff opens the free donation for if someone didn’t win a date but wanted to help out anyway.”

“Well, at least you have a better taste then,” Peter said. Derek frowned, and opened his mouth to say something but a woman spoke up on the stage and his nephew’s jaw clicked shut. He turned to the stage, focusing on the show. Peter rolled his eyes but did the same.

The woman, introducing herself as Tara Grimy or something, wasn’t too off as the host but Peter had seen far better. At least the men and women paraded before them were mostly good-looking, if not Peter’s type. He sighed, ready to just give up and call a taxi if any actually worked here. Or he could steal Derek’s car keys. Decision, decisions…

His attention was drawn back to the stage by an odd movement. He lifted his eyes to see a young man almost faceplant on the ground if not having caught himself at the last possible second. By the annoyed look he sent behind him, Peter suspected it was not his fault. The man had long limbs clad in tight black jeans which brought out the shape of his legs nicely in the lighting and the hands… Well, Peter wouldn’t mind if he found them clutching at his arms while he-

“No, uncle.”

Peter side-eye his nephew. Derek had this constipated look on his face.

“Please don’t. Not him.”

Peter’s brows lifted in surprise. Derek, his antisocial, gruff nephew who never socialised if he could avoid it, told Peter to stay away from someone. Did he know that man? Peter turned back to stare at the man on the stage, introduced as something like Styles or something or other. How did he know his nephew, if he did? He wouldn’t put it past Derek lurking around and getting to know others without ever speaking a word to them.

“Peter.”

Peter hushed him, listening to the show now. The man’s voice was pleasant enough but he wasn’t really Derek’s usual type from what he knew. Did he work for him perhaps? No, this was a charity auction for the officers and not the bakers. Dear lord, didn’t he sound awkward, certainly hated being at the centre of attention. What then-

“Do you have any last words for the lovely people waiting to get a date with you?” Grimy tittered, nudging the man along.

“Right, uh, well, I have this Lost Continent with me, and I would love to explore Amalgam with you. If, you are, you know, into that?”

Peter blinked. Well, he certainly hadn’t expected that. While Bryson wasn’t unknown, his wasn’t really a household name. That was inter-

Wait, did that woman – and the audience apparently – think that was a euphemism? Dear lord, he was losing his faith in humanity. The bidding started. Surprisingly the man was gaining quite a lot quickly. Derek had turned back to the stage too, anxiously looking as people bid on the man. Peter frowned lightly. This was most unusual. He was intrigued.

Most had stopped at a sensible five hundred but there were still two people trying to one-up each other. The guy shouted a victorious nine hundred, and Derek sagged, relieved. Peter quirked his brows at that. Did he know that man too? How well had Derek integrated into this small town hivemind? Was he one of them too now? Despite knowing Derek had run off to Beacon Hills as a teen in his rebellious phase for a summer – and returned afterwards as well, having liked his time away from his admittedly overbearing parents – he didn’t know he was _that_ attached.

Well, one way to find out.

He raised his hand.

“One hundred thousand.”

***

Stiles gawked.

He felt like he had just fallen down the rabbit hole and dropped into an alternate reality. That seemed to be the general consensus. Everyone had turned to look to the direction where the outrageous offer had come from. Like anyone had that sort of money just to throw around for! Not even Lydia’s parents – or the Whittemores, for that matter – had money like that to just… wager on a mere date. With _Stiles_. What the hell. What the hell. _What the hell_.

This had to be a joke. This was Beacon Hills. This shit doesn’t happen here.

And he had been so relieved that it was Danny who had been about to win the bidding. Oh, he had been glad for Scott and surprised for how many had tried to bid for him – there were the older women clearly clamouring for the Sheriff, one of them was a local drag queen Stiles had known since his Jungle days, but surprisingly many were on the younger side of the spectrum who were actually _serious_ about winning him over, holy shit – but seeing Danny, the one who got him to question his sexuality so much he had been crushing hard on two people on freshman year, bidding for him…

Stiles knew he was at least about to get laid later on if nothing else came from it. Danny was too nice for Stiles. He was pure perfection in human form, that Daniel Mahealani, and Stiles would only stain that with his runny mouth and sarcastic commentary. Well, Danny had to have his moments too since his best friend was Jackson Whittemore of all people, but Stiles knew he took his peanut gallery on a whole new level.

But then this.

From what he could see – which wasn’t much because the light was hitting him in the eyes – was that he was sitting in the back and was older than Stiles. For how much, he didn’t know, but there was depth in his voice which still hadn’t settled in on Stiles’.

“Excuse me?” Tara gaped beside him. Stiles agreed one hundred percent.

“I _said_ I’m bidding a hundred thousand. Do you have something wrong with your hearing?” Stiles couldn’t help it. He snickered out loud, hands clapping over his mouth in an effort to silence them. Tara shot him a wounded look. He winced, and mouthed ‘sorry’ at her. It might have been the hysterical edge on his laugh which earned him her forgiveness since she merely nodded, and turned back.

“Sir, are you-”

“Am I serious? Do I have that sort of money? Darling, do I need to raise it? Fine. _Two_ hundred thousand.”

Stiles felt something bubbling inside him. The hysterics were making their comeback. He focused on breathing so he wouldn’t have a panic attack in front of everyone. Oh gosh, wouldn’t that be-

Breathe, Stiles. _Breathe_.

“Two- I mean, two hundred thousand, once! Twice! Anyone?” The silence could be cut with a knife. “Two hundred thousand! Three times! Sold! No, I mean- The date with Stiles goes to Mr…” Tara trailed off, waiting for the man to fill in the cue. He didn’t. Instead, it seemed like he was writing down something. Stiles narrowed his eyes, trying to see something but the light kept hurting his eyes and making them water. It seemed almost as if someone was trying to stop the man, someone with dark hair, but the man was quick on his feet and avoided his… friend? like a champ. He glided through the mid-corridor, past Erica and her camera – since when did she have that up?? – and onto the stage.

He smiled pleasantly in a self-assured way which made Stiles realise that he had been absolutely serious. This man was used to getting his way. He slapped something on Tara’s hands – a check, he thought hysterically – before walking past her into Stiles’ personal space.

Thus, he was sold. Thanks a lot for the mental image, Tara.

“You have the money there, and here I am, taking this lovely young man on the date I was promised,” the man flashed a grin – shit, he was good-looking, those blue eyes were so clear – before he dipped a little, bringing Stiles hand up – since when had he taken hold of it?? – and pressed a light kiss on top of it.

Stiles felt his heart skip a beat.

“The standard-”

“I’m sure we can give it a rest,” the man said smoothly, and dragged Stiles off the stage. “I am just cashing in on what I paid for. Have a good rest of the night!” The pleasantness of his tone sent shivers down Stiles’ back and he saw his father try to rise but could not manage for Melissa’s shock was holding him down. The last thing he saw was his friends’ shocked expressions before the door hit shut behind them.

It sounded so very final.

He wondered briefly if he was going to survive the night.

***

Peter dragged the young man to Derek’s car. He flipped the keys he had stolen from his nephew’s pocket when he had been shocked into stillness and unlocked the doors. He held the door open for the man who stared at him for a moment. Peter tilted his head.

“What?” he asked.

“I feel like I’m obligated to ask your name before getting in your car,” the young man said. He made no move to step in. Peter huffed in amusement.

“What are you, a cop’s kid?”

“Yes.”

Peter blinked. “Seriously?”

“The Sheriff’s actually. I would argue on the kid part but since I never seem to age in his eyes I feel like that’s a futile effort.”

Well, look at that. Derek’s whoever-this-guy-was had connections to the law. That crossed out the criminal and blackmailer out of Peter’s list, although he hadn’t seriously considered those. Derek could handle himself, and he could sock a new one on a guy this size easily.

It also made Grimy’s ‘prince’ comment somewhat understandable because while attractive, a prince this man was not.

“Who am I to oppose the law?” he said. “You can call me Peter.”

The man quirked his brows. “Call?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s my real name. Do you want to see my licence?”

“If you were a criminal, you seem like the type to be prepared. I doubt the licence would do me any good,” the man said, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Stiles.”

They shook hands, flashing quick grins at the absurdity of it. Stiles – not with a ‘y’ it seemed – let go of it to slip into the car. Peter closed the door, quickly making his way to the driver’s side. He started the car and drove out of the parking lot just as the doors to the building holding the auction flew open and a few people rushed out: an older man who Peter would bet was the good ol’ Sheriff, couple of people Stiles’ age and even Derek. He felt a smirk curling on his lips. His nephew could hitch a ride from someone else.

“Did you really pay two hundred thousand for a date?” Stiles asked, staring out of the mirror at the people being left behind.

“Yes.” Peter didn’t elaborate. He could see Stiles wanted to ask, even opened his mouth to, before he snapped it shut.

“So where are we going?” he asked instead. Peter pondered it for a while. He had gotten a quick tour – a _very_ quick tour – around the town and hadn’t seen any places which really ticked his standards. Oh, he could dine in the cheapest of Italians but he didn’t have to enjoy it.

“What would be the place where your father wouldn’t interrupt us?”

“Afraid he’ll arrest you?”

“I bought this date fair and square, and the dates can commence at any time after the money has been exchanged. It was all very legal.”

“A bit non-traditional though.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Stiles shrugged. “Just saying. When my dad gets something in his head, he’s worse than a dog with a bone.”

“I don’t doubt that. I’ve worked with law enforcement before, unfortunately.” Peter looked from the mirror but didn’t see anyone coming after them. He took a turn to the left from the next intersection. “I know how to deal with them.”

Stiles side-eyed him. “That doesn’t really reassure me.”

“All on the legal side of things, I assure you.”

“That’s what a criminal would say.”

“Now, where would be that place?”

Stiles tilted his head, and shrugged again.

“Want to come back to my place?”

Peter blinked. “Moving rather quickly, aren’t you?”

“Not like that!” Stiles let out a surprised laugh, and swatted him. Something in him seemed to relax. Strange. “It’s just, my dad will be scouring all the restaurants and the like. He’ll only try out my apartment when he’s gone through everything else. He won’t think a possible kidnapper would take his son to his own house.”

Peter stilled for barely a second. He had to be legal because he was on the stage, he even didn't look underage, but- “Are we talking about the Sheriff’s house or your own?”

“Oh, I’m a college student. I’m doing my Master’s at Stanford, and have my own place there. Whenever I’m home I’m… well, living home,” Stiles explained, rubbing at the back of his neck. Peter nodded.

“I thought you might have been a deputy as my nephew told the event’s main course was full of cops and firefighters.”

“As well as a few assorted relatives when a certain quota won’t get filled otherwise or their friends decide to sign them up without their permission.”

“Seems oddly specific,” Peter noted. There was certainly a story behind that one. He passed his phone to Stiles. “Put the address on the GPS.”

“A bad break up. Let’s leave it at that.” Yes, definitely a story there. And probably even more reason for them to have the evening in a safe space. Stiles typed in what Peter suspected was the correct address before giving it back. A quick glance told Peter it was in the area he had earlier dubbed ‘family area, probably lots of kids, avoid at all costs’. Not the address to the Sheriff’s station, at least.

The official one anyhow.

They were pretty close already, Peter apparently having driven to the right direction from the start, so it only took them five minutes of driving in relative silence before Peter parked before a house with faded paint and a loved look. Stiles hopped out, and fished his keys from the back of his jeans’ pocket. As Peter locked the car, he couldn’t help but appreciate the man before him. He hadn’t gotten a particularly good look before but now? Yes, he did have a very fine look on him. Not what Peter would’ve usually gone for if only because of they spent time in different circles and possibly would’ve never collided otherwise.

“It’s a little old but I hope it won’t matter.” Stiles’ voice dragged Peter from his thoughts. Amusement curled itself around his mouth.

“Why do you think it would?”

“A man who can just blow two hundred thousand like it was nothing but pocket money must have standards.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

“I’m not a complete tosser,” he chuckled, and walked in after Stiles unlocked the front door.

“Just part-time?”

“Most of the time,” Peter corrected. “But I have my manners and I know not all of us are as fortunate as I am in terms of economical standing.”

“Wow, wasn’t that a fancy way of saying ‘not all are as filthy rich as I am,’” Stiles said, huffing a laugh, and took his coat. They both made their way to the kitchen where Peter sat while Stiles started to open cupboards, pulling out a couple of pots. “Would Italian be fine? We don’t have too much in here; I was supposed to go to the store the day after tomorrow so we are running a little low on things.”

“You are the chef,” Peter shrugged. “But it should be worth the money.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah right. I’ll see if I can whip up a sufficient dessert then, to add to the dinner. Which, by the way, thank you.” Peter paused in his inspection of the room – it was a little old but homey in a sense the Hale’s buildings never were, always new, white and pristine – and turned back to Stiles’ back. “The department’s been running a little low on funds for a few years now. This is going to tide them over for a good while.”

“Maybe they should invest it; would make more of it in long term.”

Stiles stilled for a moment from spreading his equipment. “You are seriously saying law enforcement should go into investing?”

Peter returned to his inspection. “Aren’t everyone these days doing it, regardless of legalities?”

“Peter. They are _the law enforcement_.”

“A pity.”

Stiles stared at the man from over his shoulder – Peter pretended not to notice – but then shook his head. He put the water down to boil, probably thinking it wasn’t worth it. “Thanks anyway.”

“Let’s just hope I wasn’t ripped off.”

“You just can’t let yourself be thanked, can you?”

Peter opened his mouth, possibly to give another retort but Stiles held up his spatula without turning around. “Just accept the thanks, and I’ll make the best goddamn pasta so you won’t feel cheated out of your money.”

“What about the dessert?”

“The dessert too, then. Thankfully I’ve already made the sauce.”

Peter cocked his head. “You’re going to feed me leftovers?” That would certainly be an interesting treat. Leftovers had never really belonged to his diet, not even during the long years of university.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dare,” Stiles said, humming as he mixed… whatever he was mixing. There was a lot of crunching sounds going on. Peter narrowed his eyes but Stiles was conveniently standing the ingredients behind him. Hmm. “Just, the traditional Italian sauces need to be left alone for a night for the best possible flavour.”

“Got it off the internet, did you?”

“My mom loved to travel before she settled down with dad. Italy was one of her favourite stops.” There was a wistful tone in Stiles voice, something untouchable and brittle. Peter almost felt like an intruder but he ignored it since something clicked in his mind. His lips curled into a grin.

“Never travel to a place that sounds like a medical condition.”

Stiles whipped around, eyes wide. “What?!”

“Bryson. You were referring to his quaint little book. Do you want to travel, kid?”

“I’m not a kid,” Stiles huffed, annoyed. “I’m twenty-three.”

“And I’m thirty-seven. You have no legs to stand on.”

“See me standing before you. Also, not old enough to be my father.”

“Well, isn’t that a sight,” Peter said, leering at him. Stiles flushed a little and averted his eyes. Now, didn’t that look pretty? Peter wondered how far down that went. “Although not the one I prefer seeing standing in my presence.”

“Oh gosh, this is so not the first date material,” Stiles laughed helplessly. Peter made a note of that.

“Besides, I was a precocious little bastard if my sister is to be believed. Maybe I sneaked-”

“Just stop it while you’re still on safe waters,” Stiles interrupted, countenance changing in a fraction of a second. “Also, if you’re trying to imply something about my mother-” he trailed off, voice lowering and leaving a threat to linger in the air. There were some things Stiles found sacred and his mother – or parents overall – was one of them.

Peter held his hands up. “Stopping. Promise.” Stiles gave him a look. It was surprisingly intense. “I swear.” He nodded decisively then before turning his back to him again. Peter’s grinned, amused.

“But, travelling.” He switched back to the topic earlier but it seemed it didn’t even give a whiplash on Stiles as the man just waved his hand. Peter hummed his approval.

“Just a moment, I need to-” There was some flailing and cursing but then something was put in the oven, and Stiles took another bowl. He was moving so much, having two pans on the stove, something cooking in the oven and still doing something else with his hands. It was a wonder his clothes weren’t dirty already. Also, a pity, Peter thought. He could have suggested having them removed if his esteemed host wasn’t volunteering.

“Yeah, I’d like to travel,” Stiles then said, absently whisking something into place. The wistful tone was back. “When mom- I got her journals. I’d like to see the places she went to, experience her world. Dad, it’s too painful for him. Says it’s not his world to intrude on. Mom, she was a wandering soul. Even after she settled down, she would insist on visiting the most obscure places, the little towns no one ever mention and pass on their way to the big cities and Instagram worth locations. She loved Bryson and his books, said his commentary was both hilarious and yet made her want to go and see places she hadn’t yet seen, even if she found her place which she belonged to. But then she-”

Stiles fell quiet, the flow of words cut off, and busied himself with the cooking. Peter watched him move, doing a million and one thing at the same time. He had always thought cooking was art, having grown up with a world class chefs eager to please the name Hale. He wasn’t too shabby himself but was nowhere at the level he was used to enjoying.

He followed the cue to switch the topic, deciding to see if he could cross the last thing on his list.

“Do you visit Claudia’s Page often?”

“What, does it show?” Stiles gave his bum a little shake. Peter looked at it appreciatively. No, it did not. “But no, not as often as I’d like. Student budget, you know? It’s just not the best for my wallet. It would be a good way to go, though…”

“But you like the place?” Peter insisted. Stiles gave him a strange look, eyes a little narrowed. “The owner?”

“You mean Derek?” Stiles asked, but continued before Peter could say a thing, “I think you should leave him alone. He doesn’t like people meddling in his business.”

“You know him then?”

“I know enough,” Stiles said, and threw a glare over his shoulder. “He’s liked around here. If you mess with him, you mess with the whole of Beacon Hills. It might not seem like much with your fancy money but we are stubborn folk and we have long memories.”

Cute.

The man Peter had bought for the night wasn’t a criminal nor was he a gold digger after the Hale fortune or even Derek’s own business. Hell, he didn’t even seem to realise that Derek was one of _the_ Hales. What was more, this little shithole was just as fond of Derek as Derek was of it. Peter was satisfied. Talia wouldn’t be, oh no, she would throw up a fit because her little boy deserved so much better but Peter considered his work done here. He had kept his bargain at keeping an eye out for his nephew – he was in good hands and he _was_ _an adult_ , for fuck’s sake, leave him _alone,_ Talia – so he could now just forget his family even existed for the night. He could focus on what _he_ wanted instead of what his sister did.

He put on his most charming smile, and decided to just do that.

He liked the idea of enjoying this delightfully sassy young man with a streak of that little something Peter couldn’t put a name on just yet. There was something there, a spark of something special – something of which he was so sure didn’t belong in this small town in the middle of basically nowhere. And something already told him that Stiles knew that too.

Oh yes, he was going to enjoy himself, he just knew it.

***

The dinner was a success.

Stiles had been a little nervous – okay, a _lot_ nervous – about it. Hell, he was supposed to please the man who paid for a night with him _two hundred thousand_. It still hadn’t really sunk in, even a day after it happened. It had caused an uproar around their town, especially since the Sheriff himself had been on a warpath. He had dragged a few of his deputies who had not been ‘on sale’ for the night to invade most of the restaurants for the wealthier folk and the haunts Stiles particularly favoured. Hell, he had even gone through the parks and all to see if Peter was forcing Stiles to participate in ‘recreational activities’, which, _dad_ -

Anyway, he had eventually driven past his own house, seen that accursed car in front of it and burst in to see Stiles laugh himself silly at something snide Peter had said about the US economy. It was past midnight at that point, most of the pasta had been eaten as well as almost half of the cheesecake Stiles had whipped up. His mom’s recipe that one too, quick and easy enough and so delicious. The only reason there had been half of it left was that the pasta had taken too much space in their bellies, of which they both had only one each unfortunately. The legend of having a second stomach for dessert was not proven true.

The Sheriff had then threatened to arrest Peter who had just snarked back that it had been all legal and that Stiles as the only one with the right to complain didn’t feel the need to do that.

His father had turned on him then, begged for him to let him arrest this man testing all his buttons. Stiles had just shrugged. To be completely honest… he had rather liked the man. After the weird beginning which had almost felt like an interrogation mixed with sassy commentary – though Stiles couldn’t imagine why that would have been since Stiles had already known he was rich and that he seemed shrew enough to not let anyone manipulate him – Peter had done a, well, not a complete 180 but at least a sharp curve of 90. His snark had turned more witty than snide and they had… hit it off?

Stiles had more fun that night than he had on any date – if he could call that a date – in a long while. He didn’t remember when another person had challenged his wits the same, or argued about more of less obscure books most had never heard of. Stiles didn’t want to admit Erica might have been onto something with her insane idea but… Stiles had a good time. And he resented his father a little for coming to interrupt _his_ night.

Peter had stood up then, stretched and- yeah, Stiles could appreciate his body more now that he was standing. He had noticed Peter’s looks before, how could he have not? He was too good-looking not to be appreciated. Yet at the auction he had been confused to the maximum, then they had eaten and he had relaxed, and now- oh hello there, arms. And the depths of that neckline. And-

“What do you say?” Stiles was pulled from his thoughts. He looked up to see Peter give him a knowing look and- yeah, there was this subtle flex Stiles was sure his father caught as well. Hot damn. “Shall I get another date?”

“I’m not into being a sugarbaby or a baby of any kind,” Stiles blurted out. Peter looked even more amused if that was possible, his grin widening as he heard Stiles father choke on air.

“I was thinking I wouldn’t have to pay anyone, not even you, to get a second date. We don’t want to give the wrong idea to the rest of the… ‘good folk’.”

Stiles swore he could hear the quotation marks there. He couldn’t help it. He snorted a laugh. _Rich people_.

No, that didn’t sound quite right, did it?

 _Peter_.

Yeah, much better.

“I will not have you call my son a pros-”

“Dad, relax,” Stiles interrupted before Noah could defend his honour or whatever it was that going on. His eyes never left Peter’s, that surprisingly warm blue of his, when he answered:

“I’d like that.”

And that was that. They exchanged numbers – his dad gave him his Erica-snatched phone back grudgingly – and, yeah, that was it. Peter left with another kiss on top of Stiles hand, tilting his head at Noah infuriatingly. It wasn’t like they could arrange a new date in front of Stiles’ dad because that would only spell a disaster. What they did was text and arrange a night out on the day after tomorrow. Stiles knew his dad would be exhausted after his double shift so he had suggested it. Luckily, Peter was also free during that day so the second date was a go.

Stiles also had to reassure all his friends that he was alright and he couldn’t help but laugh helplessly at Scott’s dozens of despondent emoji at having lost the chance to take Stiles on the date of his dreams. He just told him to make them Melissa's special the next Thursday and he would call them even. He got back a series of hearts and a picture from Kira which showed Scott smiling dopily at his phone.

He loved his friends, he told his ceiling, before falling asleep at two in the morning.

The next day, Stiles thought he might visit the Sheriff’s station to pacify his dad a little after grabbing a few heart-friendly treats. The attempt at finding something to arrest Peter for had drawn nothing and had left Noah more than frustrated. Stiles loved his dad but he knew where he got his stubbornness from.

Well, half of it.

There was a reason why they butted heads often enough, and why Stiles won most of those battles.

Yeah, he should just do that, Stiles decided and grabbed his keys. Ten minutes later he parked his car and jumped out, eagerly pushing the doors to Claudia’s Page open, name ringing the same nostalgia he felt every time he heard it. Erica was serving the people in the front. Stiles looked around and thought he might have seen Isaac there too somewhere. Those blond curls were unmistakable. Boyd was probably hiding somewhere, likely handling the books. Crazy accountancy skills on that one. Came from handling the money of a family of five from young age probably.

Stiles stepped into the queue, deciding to wait for his turn rather than bounce up ahead and annoy the customers. Respect, he knew that. It wasn’t like he needed to wait for long. Erica was nothing if not efficient.

Sure enough, three minutes later Stiles was standing by the register, a grin plastered on his face. Erica rolled her eyes, and pointed at the doors which Stiles knew from experience led to the kitchen.

“He’s already waiting for you.”

Stiles’ eyes lighted up and his grin widened. He barely heard Erica’s yell that she would know someday what happened behind the closed doors before the said doors slammed shut behind him. He switched the latches shut, and turned around to see Derek sitting by the table, several books open before him. Two cups of tea, still blowing steam, were sitting before him.

Stiles found his way opposite him and propped down, grabbing one of the books and skimming it fondly. A sip of the tea also told him it was his favourite chai. Neither of them said anything for a while, just content with the muffled noises coming from the front and the gentle sound of pages turning and the soft clatter of porcelain against the table.

Surprisingly, it was Derek who broke the silence.

“Are you alright?” he asked, gaze not lifting from the book in his hand although when Stiles raised his eyes he could see Derek’s movements being too still to be natural. Stiles frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“The… Your father. The auction.”

“Ah,” Stiles merely said, and fell silent. How to explain that? He pondered it long enough to see Derek’s expression darken. Hastily, he waved his hands.

“It’s not what you think!” he hurried to reassure. He worried his lip for a moment. “My date seemed like a… well, not a nice guy, but a good guy nonetheless. Not about to sell my organs on the black market anyway.”

“That’s not comforting,” Derek ground out. Stiles chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s true anyhow. I don’t think you or anyone else need to be worried. I had fun.”

Derek’s brows did that complicated furrow which never failed to make Stiles smile. It was a wonder how people kept saying that Derek was hard to read. One look at those eyebrows told more tales than a thousand words ever could; they were so expressive.

“Fun? With _Peter_?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded, not really surprised Derek would know Peter’s name. It wasn’t like his name would remain a mystery after that rather generous donation. The eyebrows were telling him to continue now. They really were rather impressive.

Stiles was silent for a moment before he gave a helpless half-laugh. “Erica told me before the auction that I would go out as the highest-bidden person and have the night of my life.” Derek made a disgusted face which Stiles chose to ignore. “I mean, she was half-right at least. From what I heard, Jordan came closest with his bidding. It was a lot already, and he was definitely worth the price. Of course he was, he’s Jordan Parrish. But me? I still ask what the hell happened last night.

“It wasn’t the night of my life, not really. I mean, I had fun in the end, despite the start of it. There were no big gestures or extreme intimacy. You know those things make me uncomfortable,” he saw Derek nod, the crease between his brows less severe, and he continued, “But in spite of everything it was… sort of perfect? I was cooking and I even baked mom’s cheesecake.”

Derek made a choked sound, and Stiles smiled a little self-deprecatingly.

“He was going to make sure my father would be safe and healthy with his generous donation, of course I wanted to do _something_. I don’t have a lot going on with me, and no one would be interested in this really,” he gestured at all of himself, “So that was it. And it was truly nice. Despite the fact that he has certainly eaten at better places with better ingredients and shit, Peter seemed to appreciate my efforts in a way no one else I’ve gone out with has. It was all about going out to eat, clubs, restaurants, the like – everything else didn’t really compare. Sitting in a kitchen with old yellow wallpaper and worn-out furniture, eating a homemade dish, it would never be enough. But it was, last night. I mean, he probably only did it because I told him it would be the last place for my dad to find us but he didn’t seem put-off by it. And-” Stiles cut off his rant, flushing. He played with the hem of his sleeve.

“He might know about trying to find your own Amalgam.”

Derek was silent. This was more than he thought. His uncle had been a little shit since he was, his mother used to say. Ungrateful, too wilful, ready to rebel and skilled at sticking his nose in other people’s business. But he was also kind in his own way and loyal to a fault. If Derek was honest to himself, he could see Peter being attracted to Stiles and vice versa. Neither of the men had the best of track records – Peter with his one night stands and refusal to settle, Stiles with his ability to find the worst of people – but they looked for similar traits in a possible partner: loyalty, honesty, intelligence. And if they managed to keep each other on their toes at the same time?

Derek had been apprehensive at first – and he had hoped Mahealani would have won because Derek knew he wouldn’t have been cruel to Stiles, no matter what – but he could see it. He could see a potential there. They both wanted, at their core, to find a place – or perhaps a person – where they could belong.

Amalgam.

Whatever that was.

He watched Stiles light up a little, smile gracing as he tapped his phone and nodded to himself. He would keep quiet and watch and if it seemed like things would fall apart-

He would interfere because Stiles was someone precious to him, and because Peter was his favourite uncle, the only one who really got why he ran away and who covered for him when he could ask of that from no one else.

Derek stood up and gathered the books. Stiles followed in short, and he pointed at the recipe open on the book before him.

“Can we do the carrot cake today?”

“Only if we work on the muffins too.”

“You always want to work on the muffins!”

“They’re still not perfect; the carrot cake is. We need to get the texture just _right_.”

“Fine! But we’ll make the ones I can bring to my dad.”

“Deal.”

With a small secret smile shared between them, they cleaned the table and started.

Some traditions just were not meant to be broken.

***

Stiles and Peter actually hit it off. Big time.

Stiles honestly hadn’t thought it was possible. He thought that after the first few dates Peter’s whatever interest in him would have been sated and the charm of novelty would have worn off. Stiles was, after all, nothing special enough to warrant the attention of a socialite because that’s what Peter was. A huge fucking socialite born with a silver spoon in his mouth, one his fellow students at Stanford would moan about whenever the topic of student loans would come up. Stiles wasn’t above it to not have done the same because it was unfair that money was concentrated on the top few while the rest-

But Peter wasn’t the same. Well, he was and he wasn’t.

He was unapologetic of his wealth but most of it came from his career as a famous fashion designer as Stiles would later found out. He had a better start than most, he’d freely admit, but it wasn’t all he was. The choice of his career also had something to do with rebelling against his family’s expectations, Peter told Stiles, that taking interest in the ‘useless things’ instead of going to Yale to study law or something else worthwhile was the final fuck you to his family’s demands. He hadn’t been disowned – nor did he disown them – but it definitely made it clear that he would do nothing for them if it didn’t suit him. Also, the fact that he hadn’t even touched the family fortune after launching his career and throwing in their faces a check for the expenses he made as a child, an approximation he had been working on for years, didn’t endear him to them as no one could claim anything over him. Apparently his older sister, and the heir to their fortune, found it the most infuriating.

“She can only nag at me until I either give up or fly to another country,” Peter told him. “Her favourite excuse is the responsibility to our family, particularly to her children. I like her kids, more or less. But they’re not mine so I bear no paternal attachment to them; I’m closer in age to them than to Talia and our cousins anyway. I like to think of myself as the ‘cool uncle’ – not older brother because that would give Talia power over me that I don’t want – who can be there for them when they need someone to stand up to their mother. She loves them but she can be _quite_ overbearing with the way she thinks she always knows best.”

In return, Stiles told him of his childhood as the Sheriff’s unpopular kid, his battle with his ADHD of which he thankfully grew mostly out of, and even about his mother and the slow deterioration which caused her to see things that weren’t there. “Frontotemporal dementia”, he told him with a grimace, and waved his hand. “It’s genetic.”

To be honest, Stiles still didn’t know why he told Peter that. He hadn’t really opened up on it to any of his past partners. Yet Peter had only stared at him solemnly before raising his glass of wine – something expensive he had brought with him to that particular date in Stiles’ dorm of all places – and said, “To the uncontrollable circumstances.”

Uncontrollable circumstances indeed. Stiles would drink to that.

They had slept together that night the first time. Not in a sexy way but to just… sleep.

It was nice.

True to his word, Peter hadn’t started pampering Stiles with gifts or expensive things and just offered him snide comments and witty remarks. He did pay for most of the dates they took outside, if only because they both knew that Stiles’ student budget wasn’t limitless. The ones they stayed in for, those were the ones Stiles handled. They hadn’t even had sex which was the weirdest yet perhaps the nicest thing too. Stiles didn’t think he had gone without sex ever in a relationship – because that’s what it was, they had established that after the one month mark – for this long, and he knew that Peter definitely hadn’t. He had been more open about his past exploits than necessary sometimes, even if they were a comedy gold when he would point out a celebrity or a model and tell how bad they were in bed in real life. It always made Stiles wonder why Peter stayed with him, made him a little insecure, when he could have all that but when he had asked him-

Peter had gotten this strange look on his face, a sort of wistful yet intense look, which Stiles found he couldn’t escape from. He had taken Stiles’ hand then, pulled him towards him, and kissed him so deep Stiles’ toes had curled. Then he had pulled Stiles along and they had gotten into the Ferris Wheel at the fair Stiles had insisted they attend and watched together as the sun went down. It was sappy and romantic in the sickening way which he knew that both of them hated in the romantic comedies but there they were, sitting while holding hands, just enjoying the peace and quiet of each other’s company.

Stiles didn’t ask anymore. He had no need to. For once in his life, he was enough to make someone happy without stipulations. He was desired as _himself_ , and not whatever people thought he was. He was comfortable in his own skin in a way he had never been before, in a way Erica’s video of the auction hadn’t made him feel; despite her attempt at boosting his confidence, it had only made him feel dirty.

But with the way he always saw Peter’s shoulders relax whenever he was in his presence, he knew that it was the same for him too. They were both just happy to sass the other while just being together, doing anything or nothing at all.

They hit the sixth month mark before Peter came down to Stanford, and seduced the feet from under him. And that, truly, was the night of his life Erica had been wishing for him at the charity auction which now seemed to have been so long ago. It did happen, eventually, at their own pace.

And Stiles couldn’t be happier about it.

**Author's Note:**

> :D


End file.
